Crossing the street with her phone in hand, January scrolled through the birthday wishes posted by family and friends. She was lost in the world of social media when the blare of a horn and squeal of tires caused her to jump back just in time to miss colliding with the car headed straight for her.

She held a hand up to her chest and tried to steady her heart rate. She was too shocked to notice the driver as he exited the car until his voice called out over her erratic breathing.

“I could have run you over. What in the hell were you thinking crossing the street with your head buried in your phone?”

Just like that, her heart went from beating wildly out of control in fear to beating wildly out of control for a very different reason. Brecken was standing in front of her. She looked between his sleek black sports car, which was only inches from her legs, and the man, who was standing menacingly before her. His suit jacket was gone and the top button of his shirt was undone, revealing tan, golden skin at the base of his neck. There was a wild look in his eyes. Fear? Anger? Both? She didn’t have time to decide before her vision went fuzzy around the edges, adrenaline cutting off her ability to take a decent breath.

“Are you hurt?” he asked when she still hadn’t spoken. His voice was softer this time, but his body still appeared tense.

Placing a steadying hand on the hood of his car, she answered as she tried to calm her nerves. “Yes. No. I-I think I just need a moment.”

As the last word left her lips, she swayed, and he caught her in his arms before she collapsed on the hood of his car. “Easy. I got you,” he whispered, sweeping her up and cradling her against his chest as he moved to his passenger’s side.

She relaxed against him, not caring in the least that he picked her up as if she weighed nothing. Any other time she would have scoffed at the idea of almost fainting, after all, she wasn’t a damsel in distress. And as soon as she could get her knees to stop acting like Jell-O and her lungs to work like they should, she would actually act like it.

He placed her in the front seat of his car and squatted down beside her. His eyes were shadowed with concern that she hadn’t expected. “I think we should take you to the emergency room and have you checked out. You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine. You didn’t even hit me—just scared me.” Still, she attempted to sit forward in the seat, only to be met with a wave of dizziness that had her leaning back again.

“Okay. I assume your boyfriend is still working. Is there someone else I can call for you?”

January’s eyes popped open. “Boyfriend?”

“Michael.” He nodded in the direction of the bar.

“Yes, I mean no.”

His eyes crinkled as she struggled to piece together a coherent sentence.

“Yes, he’s working, but no, Michael isn’t my boyfriend. We’re just friends.” She sat forward slowly, taking a couple of deep breaths until her stomach settled and her equilibrium returned. “I live right up the street; I’ll be fine to walk. Thank you for not running me over,” she said in a mocking tone.

She swung her legs out of the car, expecting Brecken to move back out of her way. Instead, he braced his hands on either side of the open door. “I’d really feel better if you had someone with you until your pretty pink color comes back.”

She met his eyes, struggling to decipher his body language and tone. Was he flirting or simply stating facts? He was so open and free with his words, yet she found him so confusing, too.

“Fine. You can drop me back at the bar.”

He nodded and shut the door. Alone in his expensive car, she inhaled his masculine scent mixed with rich smell of the leather interior.

After he’d settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine, he looked to her. “Doing all right?”

‘I’m okay. Really.”

“Decided not to go out after Michael was done working tonight, I assume?”

“And I see you decided to skip out on your party early.”

She could make out the faintest hint of a smile in the darkened car. “I did my part.”

“Which was?”

“I paid for the food and booze.”

The parking lot and side street had cleared, and as he parked in front of the bar she could see inside the front window. “Looks like the party ended pretty quick without you.”

He shrugged with one shoulder. “I’m sure they had other Friday night plans.”

The way he said it, as if maybe he were a little jealous, made her want to peel back the many layers of Brecken Blackstone.

“Buy me a drink?” she asked, not believing the words coming out of her mouth. “It is still my birthday after all, and you did ruin it.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Whatever the birthday girl wants.”

* * *

January leaned against the bar and pushed to her tiptoes as she pointed to a shelf lined with wine and liquor bottles.

“You’re sure?” Michael raised his eyebrows then shook his head as he grabbed the zinfandel.

She felt him assessing her as he pulled the cork and grabbed two glasses before placing them in front of her.

“It’s just a drink.” She pushed a bill across the bar. “I need change, please,” she said more sweetly.

Michael laughed but turned to the register. “I don’t think that was what he had in mind when he gave you a hundred and told you to order whatever you wanted.”

He handed her the change and she winked. “He should have been more specific then.”

She carried the wine and glasses back to the table where Brecken sat. The intensity in his eyes forced her gaze to dip down and her breathing to hitch. He was so completely out of her league she wasn’t even going to pretend otherwise, which was what the cheap wine was all about.

She sat across from him, placing the bottle and glasses on the table. Then she slid the change back to him. “I hope you like zinfandel,” she said as she poured.

He eyed the wad of money. “I expected you’d get something a little more. . .”

“Expensive?” she finished for him.

“It’s the least I could do, considering I ruined your entire night,” he said in a teasing tone.

“And almost hit me with your car.”

He lifted the glass, and she followed suit. “Cheers.” He softly clinked his glass against hers before bringing it to his lips and drinking. He grimaced as he swallowed. “That’s terrible.”

With a smile, she tipped back her own glass. “You’d insult my wine choice?”

He smiled back and shrugged. “You have terrible taste in wine.”

“Do you always blurt out exactly what you’re thinking?”

“Depends. When I know I’m right, I don’t hold back.”

Was he still talking about the wine?

“Are you sure I can’t take you to get checked out? I may not have actually hit you, but you almost collapsed.”

She sat straight in the booth and carefully forced any emotion out of her voice. “A trip to the emergency room is expensive. Besides, I’m fine now.”

A flash of sympathy crossed his features, but it disappeared quickly behind his smile. “I have a friend over at Presbyterian/St. Luke’s if—”

“I’m fine. That won’t be necessary.”

He nodded, and they stared across the table. His face gave nothing away. It was as perfectly unreadable as she knew her own was. “What is it you do for work?” he asked after a moment.

“I’m a professional organizer.”

“Seriously?” His eyebrows shot up, but it was more a look of intrigue than of condescension.

She shot him a look, daring him to mock her career. Even if it was flailing along at the moment, she was proud of what she did.

“I’ve just never met anyone that was a professional organizer before. How’d you get into it?”

Her defensiveness eased at the sincerity of his second question. “It sorta found me, I suppose. I bounced around from job to job after college, miserable with a typical nine-to-five schedule, reporting to suits.” She laughed as he cocked an eyebrow. “Then, one day, I was at a friend’s house, looking through her closet, and wow, you should have seen it.” She smiled at the memory. “It was a mess. She had about a million little storage containers and those tacky hanging closet dividers shoved into this tiny little space. So, I convinced her to let me try to organize it. Several hours later, I had transformed her closet into a beautiful and functional space. She loved it, and I was hooked.”

“Is it mostly closets or do you get requests for entire homes?”

“It is a lot of closets or garages, but kitchen pantries are popular, too. I do it all,” she said with an air of pride.

“And what are you working on now?”

Her confidence faltered. “I’m between projects at the moment,” she said, fidgeting with her glass.

“Perfect.” He cleared his throat and pulled his wallet out of his jacket pocket. “I think I might have the perfect project for you… since you’re available.”

Again with the double entendre. Again with her cheeks heating, this time with a little spark of anger mixed in. Whatever he had in mind, she couldn’t be bought. Maybe he was cut more like the men her father worked with than she’d thought previously. “That isn’t necessary. I’m sure something will come along soon.”

He opened his wallet on the table and pulled out a card. “This isn’t a pity job, if that’s what you’re concerned about. I really do need some help.”

“What kind of job?” Fine, she decided, if the man who said what he meant said it wasn’t a pity job, she would at least hear him out.

He scribbled on the back of his business card and slid it across the table. Their fingertips touched, and they both froze, locking eyes. Did he feel it too—the energy and heat flowing between them? She pulled her hand away, taking the card with her.

“It might be easier to explain in person. If you’re interested, meet me here on Monday morning. It’s a short project, six to eight weeks max.”

“I don’t know,” she said, not wanting to tell him that his idea of a short project and hers were very different. Her longest running project to date had taken her a week to finish.

What in the world he could need help with? A stock room of computer parts?

“No pressure, but I hope you’ll consider it. I like you, January Lyle.”

She looked from him to his card, running her long fingernails over the raised imprint of his name. Then the soft chime of her phone had her reaching for her purse.

Dad.

Figures he’d wait to call when I’m sitting across from a beautiful man who is offering me a job.

“I’m sorry. It’s my father.”

With a nod of understanding, he stood, buttoning his jacket. The wad of cash still sitting on the table. “Think about it. Meet me Monday morning at seven if you’re interested. If not, then it was lovely to have met you.”

She nodded slowly, and he turned away. The air moved with him, and a cold breeze ran over her skin. He waved at Michael, who was busy cleaning up the last remnants of last call but paused long enough to wave back. Lifting the phone to her ear, she paused as his eyes met hers once more. A lazy smile lifted at one corner of his mouth and then he was gone.